


Hawks Don't Peck

by lellabeth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Phil Coulson, Kiss cam, M/M, pining then fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lellabeth/pseuds/lellabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil looks over at the field in time to see all the screens in the park sweeping from a shot of Natasha and Tony over to… Phil.</p><p>And Clint.</p><p>Then he realizes the screens are all bordered in pink and red hearts.</p><p>Kiss Cam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hawks Don't Peck

“Stark, if you get mustard on my suit, everyone in this stadium will discover it is possible for someone to be killed with a hot dog.”

Tony just huffs, moving the hot dog away from Phil. “Fine, Agent Hardass. You just sit there and be miserable.”

Phil doesn’t even have a comeback to that one, because he really is miserable. He hates the Mets and only came to the game because Tony sold it to him as team bonding. So far he’s watched Bruce write differential equations on his phone, heard Natasha rate all of the batter’s asses on a running scale, felt the press of Barton’s long legs against his own in the limited space around them, and discovered that a stadium full of people is the easiest way to obtain a pounding headache. To add to his misery, the sun is directly overhead, shining through his sunglasses and making his skin feel like it’s on fire.

If Phil ends up with a sunburn, he’s going to kill Tony. With a million shitty, mustard-smothered hot dogs. At once. A meat-saccare. 

“Why are you smirking to yourself?” Clint asks, leaning close. Phil just shakes his head. That’s another thing about today Phil hates. He’s usually good at keeping his attraction locked up tight within himself, but today Clint is wearing faded jeans and a threadbare t-shirt that’s straining around his biceps, and Phil wants to curl into him and never move again. As it is, there’s nothing more than the slightly sweaty press of their skin whenever one of them shifts, because Phil insisted he had to wear the suit when on Avengers business. Now, he’s fucking boiling inside all of the fabric, and he’s already taken his suit jacket off.

Like he said: miserable.

He pulls out his phone, browsing through work emails. He only looks up again when he hears Tony choking to death beside him.

“Shit,” Tony wheezes, pounding his chest, and Phil looks over to see Natasha snapping her head firmly to the side in a ‘no’ gesture, and then Phil looks over at the field in time to see all the screens in the park sweeping from a shot of Natasha and Tony over to… Phil.

And Clint.

Then he realizes the screens are all bordered in pink and red hearts.

Kiss Cam.

Fuck his life.

“Pucker up, boss,” Clint says quietly next to him, lifting a hand to wave at the camera. All around them, the crowd cheers, and Phil feels more than a little sick. But Clint is turning towards him, his mouth smiling but his eyes gentle, one hand coming to rest on Phil’s cheek. He expects something firm and bruising, so he’s almost stunned when Clint’s lips brush feather-light across his own. The barest contact, enough to taste the strawberry chapstick Clint always wears, and then the crowd is cheering louder and Clint is pulling away still with that smile, and Phil leans back like his whole world hasn’t just turned upside down.

The camera pans to someone else. Clint slumps back in his seat too. “Sorry about that, sir.”

“You’re not sorry,” Tony crows from behind Phil. “You probably paid the damn guy to—” His words fade into a strangled yelp, and Phil makes a mental note to thank Natasha later.

Clint’s cheeks are pink and Phil doesn’t think it’s from the sun, and he feels even warmer than before. And suddenly he’s so tired of being cautious, of holding back, and he decides to step into thin air and hope someone is there to catch him. “You’re a good kisser, Barton.”

Clint’s tongue wets the corner of his mouth. “Yeah?”

Phil nods. “I’d need further exploration to be sure, though.”

“Yeah?” Clint repeats, but different. This time he is entirely still, his eyes wide, his hands fisted tight. This is how Clint had looked when Phil told him about the Avengers Initiative and that a spot was his if he wanted it.

It takes Phil another few seconds to realize this is how hope looks on Clint.

Then he’s leaning forward and cupping Clint’s face in his palms, dragging in forward to smash their mouths together. He hears Natasha’s “about time” alongside Thor’s “well met, Son of Coul!” and Clint smiles against his lips.

He thinks that maybe, there isn’t anywhere he’d rather be.


End file.
